


Fancy Dan Cooks For You!

by Ellidfics



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Adventures: Avengers
Genre: M/M, bad restaurant hygiene, gourmet food, stevetonysecretsanta 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 02:30:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellidfics/pseuds/Ellidfics
Summary: Steve and Tony try to grab a burger after a pickup basketball game, but there's something strange about their server....





	Fancy Dan Cooks For You!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XtaticPearl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtaticPearl/gifts).



> This is for Xtaticpearl, who loves Marvel Adventures Steve/Tony. It's inspired by issue #27, where our heroes play basketball, talk about going out for lunch, and encounter three oddly assorted supervillains and a very, very small would-be conqueror. I'm so sorry this was a little late - I hope you like it!

“I don't know about this one, Tony,” said Steve, peering at the menu posted in the restaurant window. “'DMO's Fancy Fixin's' doesn't sound like a burger joint.”

“ _Gourmet_ burger joint with great reviews on Yelp.” Tony checked his phone, then held it out so Steve could read the starred review on a foodie blog. If their old favorite _had_ to be under new management, at least the replacement looked promising. “Grass-fed beef, locally sourced tomatoes, artisan buns, sweet potato fries with stone-ground maple mustard - “

“All of which sounds great, but ‘artisan’ usually means high prices, at least in my book.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Which is not a concern since it's my turn to buy.” Tony clapped him on the back, just heartily enough to avoid seeming less than platonic. “Plus the Health Department gave it an 'A' for cleanliness. What's not to like?”

Steve raised an eyebrow and gestured at the muscular, slow-moving waiter. “The staff giving you a five minute rundown of every ingredient and where it was produced? I’ve got an appointment later today, you know.”

That Tony did, per the Avengers' Google calendar that Tony's faithful AI faithfully maintained. “CAP – sparring, Logan” it read, and if Tony felt just the teensiest flash of jealousy at the idea of two old war buddies getting hot, sweaty, and possibly entangled, he was not going to admit it in public. “Basketball was scheduled first,” he said. “That means post-basketball burgers, which means Logan can wait.” 

Steve laughed and reached for the door handle. “In that case, after you, my dear Alphonse.”

Tony resisted the urge to call him on the “dear” and bowed respectfully before leading the way into the tastefully decorated dining room. “My humble thanks, Gaston.” He snapped his fingers at the waiter, who looked like he might have been able to bench press Steve himself if not necessarily his motorcycle. 

“ _Garçon!_ Two menus and your best table, _s'il vous plait!_ ” he called, and pulled out a twenty just in case their muscle bound server had something against superheroes and tried to put them near the kitchen.

 

_”Well, shoot.” Montana peered out into the dining room, brows knotted in distress. “Did you get a load of who just walked in?”_

_“Unless it's another food blogger we can butter up, didn't and won't.” Fancy Dan, in immaculate chef's whites and a toque he'd folded to resemble a summer straw, distributed order sheets to the kitchen staff. “Time is money, and the faster we can move the product, the faster we can pay off our fines and get back to normal. Go tell Ox - “_

_“That's what I'm tryin' to tell you-all.” Montana dodged a prep cook on the way to grabbing Fancy Dan by the shoulders and bodily turning him around so he could see what was going on. “He's got their table, which means they're gonna recognize him and - “_

_Dan squinted at the two tall men who'd claimed the best window seat, never mind that Ox usually handled the high tops near the bar, where it didn't matter as much if he screwed up an order. One was in the kind of shape that practically screamed “I have the money for a personal trainer,” while the second had the shoulders of a linebacker, the waist of a greyhound, and probably was the personal trainer. “So a couple of gym queens want lunch. Big deal.”_

_“I don't think they're like that so much,” said Montana. He pointed at the dark-haired one, who had flashed a bankroll at Ox to get a good table and was now charming the beverage server. “Isn't that Tony Stark?”_

_The sous chef drifted over. “And isn't the big one with the yellow hair Captain America?”_

_Dan nearly dropped an entire lunch service's worth of order slips. “Damn. I think you're right.”_

 

Steve settled back in his chair and watched Tony read over the menu for the fourth (or was it fifth?) time. He’d taken the time to shower and shave after their usual game of H-O-R-S-E, and his slightly damp hair and satin-smooth cheeks made him look even better than usual. It was all Steve could do not to whip out his Moleskine and start sketching his easy smile, shade in his flawless tan, define his perfect teeth and lips and - 

Which would be a really, really bad idea since the preceding ten (or twenty, but who was counting?) pages were full of drawings of various parts of Tony’s anatomy, including one that would have made it crystal clear that Steve was interested in a bit more than just muscle and drapery studies. 

“Steve? I think our new best friend wants to know what we’ll have.” 

Steve jerked back to himself as Tony flashed that beautiful smile at their waiter with his usual aplomb. “Sorry. I was just woolgathering.”

“I never would have guessed,” said Tony. He paused as the waiter, who had a strong jaw, badly cut reddish hair, and a sullen expression, pulled out a well chewed pencil and held it poised over an order pad.

“Welcome to DMO’s Fancy Fixin’s, home of Home Style Cooking Your Mama Never Dreamed Of,” he said in a rough monotone. “I’ll be taking care of youse today. Our specials are Firehouse Burgers with Hatch Chili Sauce, Turkey Burgers with Homemade Cranberry Ketchup on Ancient Grain Buns, and Open Faced Cod Sandwich with Creamy Mexicano Sauce. All burgers come with your choice of regular or sweet potato fries, and our Soup of the Day is – “

“I’ll have a cheeseburger, lettuce and tomato, medium well, with provolone. Regular fries,” Steve blurted out. The Firehouse Burger sounded wonderful but messy, and the last thing he wanted was to drip chili sauce all over his lap. “That turkey thing sounds perfect for you, Tony.”

“Turkey burger with cranberry ketchup? More like someone’s idea of Thanksgiving at a hipster hotel.” Tony made a little _hm_ sound and considered the regular menu, then sighed. “As delicious as this all sounds, you're right. My doctor did tell me to watch my cholesterol, so I guess it’s Chateau D'Hip for me.”

The waiter narrowed his eyes, and if his face had been a little less blocky he would have looked annoyed. “What would youse like on the side? Sweet potato fries, regular fries, plantain frieds, turnip fries, salad – “

“Sweet potato fries, with the maple mustard,” said Tony before Steve could point out that a green salad and Extra-Virgin Olive Oil Dressing Delicately Splashed With Organic Strawberry Vinegar was much healthier than anything fried. “And a large iced tea. Unsweetened.”

“Black coffee for me,” said Steve. A Caesar salad sounded good, especially since the menu boasted that the dressing was made from responsibly farmed fish and cage-free eggs from organic farms in Dutchess County, but he wanted to leave room for dessert. “And a large glass of water.”

“Yessir,” said the waiter. He scribbled something down, shoved their menus under his arm, and stumped off toward the kitchen. Steve waited until he was out of earshot to speak.

“So. How's the company doing? You've been awfully busy lately and I wanted to rough out next month's training schedule - “

 

_“Yeah, they're gay.” Ox himself was straight as a plank (and about as smart), but he spent enough time pumping iron to have surprisingly accurate gaydar. “'Specially the guy with the finicky little mustache. The way he’s looking at Captain America’s a dead giveaway.”_

_“You been smokin' whacky weed again?” Montana pulled out a gossip magazine that showed Tony Stark posing with yet another gorgeous starlet at a charity ball. “You think he'd be messin' around with a filly who looked that good if his lasso wasn't nice and straight?”_

_Ox grunted. “They call it a wig or something. Gay guys dating chicks to look un-gay. That Iceman guy for instance – “_

_“I think you-all mean ‘beard’ – “_

_“Would you two put a cork in it?” Fancy Dan shoved his way in between them and glared up at his partners, first Montana, then Ox. Now more than ever he missed his elevator shoes, but until they invented elevator Crocs for executive chefs, he was sticking with comfort, not style. “Who cares if they’re making eyes at each other? What are they doing here? We’re clean as a whistle right now!”_

_“Maybe they’re just hungry,” said the sous chef. He waved an assistant aside and directed another toward a pile of potatoes sliced with laser-like precision. “I’ve yet to meet a ‘superhero’ who couldn’t out-eat a herd of angry grypflychs in full stampede.”_

_Dan rubbed at his forehead and wished, not for the first time, that the judge hadn’t decided to sentence the Enforcers to work with their cellmate as a condition of their parole. One more story about grypflychs, whatever they were, and he was going to practice his high kicks until he was sure he could aim the sous chef straight into the deep fryer._

_“Like I said, I don’t care why they’re here. Just feed ‘em and get ‘em out before they figure out who we are!”_

_“Yeah, well, they owe us one,” said Ox, smacking one meaty fist into an equally meaty palm. “Without them we’d still be running the phone scam, not stuck slinging hash and being nicey-nice all day. One more bad tipper and I’m gonna - “_

_Fancy Dan grabbed him in a judo hold, spun him around, and marched him toward the plating station. “Just shut up, serve them and get them out of here! Gah – “_

 

“This is actually good.” Tony took a second bite of his turkey burger, chewed, and swallowed. The cranberry ketchup had a nice bite to it and the ground turkey was fresh and flavorful. “Much better than that turkey-flavored fake bacon you brought back from your last grocery run.”

“That was Jan, not me, and it wasn’t turkey, it was seitan.” Steve’s own burger looked as simple and straightforward as the man himself, with a nice char to the meat, perfectly melted cheese, and a slice of red, juicy tomato that Tony could practically taste across the table. “How are the sweet potato fries? They look awfully – big,” he finished, and was that actually a blush staining his cheeks?

“Well, sweet potatoes are pretty long,” said Tony after a pause, and yes, Steve was definitely a bit pinker than usual. Maybe his crush wasn’t quite as hopeless as he’d always assumed? “Want to try one? They’re awfully good, especially with a little mustard right on the tip.”

Steve swallowed, eyes wide, and gulped down about a third of his water at once. “Sure,” he managed when he’d caught his breath, and opened his mouth as Tony dipped, tapped off the excess mustard, and held out a single thick, beautifully fragrant fry. “Mmm. That really is good.”

“Uh huh.” Even the way the man chewed was perfection, and oh, Tony was going to hate himself if he was reading this wrong.

Which he probably wasn’t, if the way that Steve swirled one of his own golden fries in tomato ketchup and offered it to Tony was any clue. “Want a taste?”

 _As long as you kiss me afterwards,_ Tony thought, and accepted. “That’s – wonderful. Just wonderful.”

Neither man spoke for a moment. Then Steve said, a hair too quickly, “You know, I think I pencilled Logan in for the wrong day. There’s an exhibit over at at the Guggenheim I was meaning to see, Italian Futurists, and I – I’d love company if you had the – “

“Sure, that sounds great,” Tony blurted out, mentally wondering if there were any relatively private spaces in the long downward spiral of Frank Lloyd Wright’s last great building. “You’ll have to explain it to me since I’m not an artist.”

Steve broke into a smile that was as bright and beautiful as the afternoon sun streaming in through the restaurant’s plate glass windows. “Don’t be too sure of that. Your armor could be right out of a Futurist – “ 

“What the hell? Is this _saliva?_ ” came an angry shout from across the dining room, and both Avengers automatically swiveled in place to see what was going on.

.  
_”What – did – you – do?” Dan might have been inches shorter than Ox but right now he was angry enough that neither of them noticed. “Did you actually spit in someone’s food? Well?”_

_Ox choked slightly as Dan grabbed him by the collar and hauled him down to a comfortable yelling level. “I’m sorry, boss! I – I just saw them and I saw red. They’re the ones who put us in jail! I thought it was that Iron Guy’s order and – “_

_“You aren’t supposed to think! That’s my job!” Dan snarled as Montana, grimacing, dashed past him to try to placate the well dressed man waving a suspiciously gummy slab of cod at the dining room. “Besides, he was having the turkey burger, not the fish!”_

_“I told you six months ago I could modify my war machines to perform all the functions of a waitron,” said Krage the Conqueror, taking a break from supervising his robot army as it worked the grill, and oh did Dan want to shot put the arrogant little alien straight into the nearest compost heap. “But noooo, you had to let this moron interact with customers instead of confining him to tasks more suited to his alleged intellect.”_

_“Who are you calling a moron?” Ox shoved Dan’s hand aside and glared at Krage. “You’re the one who thought us dumb Earthlings was six inches tall!”_

_“Both of you shut up!” Dan howled. “People are starting to stare!“_

 

“So? What just happened?” Tony, who’d appropriated two to-go boxes from a bewildered teenage girl who had been clearing the tables, stood up as Steve worked his way back through the gawkers to their table. “Who was that guy?”

“The food critic for the _Bugle_ , and it looks like someone spat in his sandwich.” Steve, nose wrinkled in disgust, checked under his burger bun and heaved a sigh of relief. “Mine looks okay. What about yours?”

Tony hastily pulled the perfectly toasted Ancient Grain Bun off his turkey burger, visibly sagging at the sight of nothing more than turkey and cranberry ketchup. “All clear, thank God. That was too good to waste.”

“Yeah. I wonder what happened?” Steve pulled two twenties out of his wallet and left them on the table before Tony could say a word. “I know it’s your turn to pay, but I want to get out of here before things get out of hand, and that means cash. We’re off-duty, you know.”

“Then dessert’s on me. I know this great little place about three blocks away. Best cannoli in Midtown,” said Tony. He came around their table and stopped directly in front of Steve. His eyes were very, very blue. “That is, if you can reschedule with Logan?”

Steve cautiously laid his free hand on Tony’s upper arm, grip relaxing into a very slight caress at the other man’s smile. His voice went husky as he leaned close enough to whisper, “Whatever you want, Shellhead.”

“You sure about that?” Tony arched a nicely groomed eyebrow at the touch, as if he couldn’t quite allow himself to believe that Steve was flirting with him. “I didn’t know you liked – “

“Cannoli? Always have,” Steve murmured, and no, he wasn’t imaging the quick shudder that ran through the other man. “Just because I don’t go around telling everyone and his uncle doesn’t mean I don’t.”

“Good,” Tony breathed. Neither spoke for a long, long moment, even when the critic pulled out his phone and shouted that he was calling the police. “Want to blow this Popsicle stand?”

“Among other things,” said Steve, and waited for the critic to run out the door before slinging an arm around Tony and leading him out onto the street.

 

_“Well, shoot. Looks like those owl hoots ain’t so straight after all.” Montana wiped his brow with his bandanna and watched as the outraged customer stormed out, right past two moony-eyed superheroes. “Who woulda thought Captain America his own self liked colts better than fillies?”_

_Dan resisted the urge to smack Montana with the nearest meat mallet, then use his rope to tie Ox to the back door so he’d never, ever be in spitting distance of someone’s lunch again. “Who cares? We’re going to lose our license and go straight back to jail if this gets into the papers!”_

_“A license? You care about something as petty as a license?” There was a small, angry _whizz_ as Krage’s war chariot buzzed up from the sous chef counter. He drew himself up to his full seven inches and jabbed a tiny, sharp finger at Dan’s right nostril. “My warriors and I might be sent to Spartax! Handed over to the Nova Corps! Do you know what they’ll do to us on Xandar?”_

_“Like I care about Xandar, you puffed up little pipsqueak!” Dan shouted. “Or you! You’re only here because those war robots of yours cut veggies better than a Cuisinart and – “_

_“Boss? We gots company,” said Ox, looking even less happy than usual. Three police officers, one the beat cop who was allergic to lobster and had the Health Department on speed dial, the other two plainclothes detectives, stood in the doorway. The beat cop already had her cuffs out and was smiling in a way that meant no good._

_“Damn it,” said Fancy Dan, and wondered if their parole officer would allow them to reopen if he put Ox in charge of the cleanup crew instead of the waitstaff._


End file.
